In Love and Danger
by marinawings
Summary: Brenna, the Dragonborn, and Marcurio, an apprentice wizard and not a pack mule, realize their true feelings for each other in the face of a series of life-or-death situations.
1. Chapter 1

An amazing thing happened at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun.

Marcurio smiled.

He hadn't smiled in a while, so at first, the gesture puzzled him and made him wonder if he was getting sick. After all, Brenna had dragged them through marshy ground, freezing rain and snow, and dark, dank caves, usually with a lower-than-he-recommended stock of healing potions. Maybe this strange feeling in his face, in his heart, was some sort of illness making itself known.

But as he watched her across the main room of the inn, her face lit by firelight, her back straight, chin lifted, he realized that he was smiling because he was proud of her-and because he knew the self-proclaimed ladies' man and bard Mikael was no match for her in a brawl. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair as they squared up-tall man, tall woman.

Brenna's red-gold hair gleamed in the light, and her green eyes lit up with a fire within that he had come to find familiar.

Mikael took a fighting stance first.

"If I win, you're leaving Carlotta alone," Brenna declared.

Mikael laughed. "You won't win. And Carlotta doesn't want me to leave her alone. None of the beautiful women of Skyrim do."

Brenna rolled her eyes and tossed Marcurio a look that screamed, "Can you believe this guy?"

"Get your hands up!" he called to her, not trusting the bard's sense of honor.

And he was right. Brenna got her fists up just in time to block a punch to the face. She took several steps back as Mikael attempted to pummel her.

Marcurio jumped to his feet in spite of himself, suddenly worried. "Don't let him drive you back!" he shouted, fingers itching to send the bard flying with chain lightning. "Come on!"

Brenna ducked, weaved, swung. Her fist connected hard with the unsuspecting bard's jaw, and Mikael swayed.

Brenna dodged a clumsy blow from the bard, then smacked his ribs with a left hook. _He _was the one shuffling backward now, desperate to fend off her blows.

Her fists landed on his jaw, his shoulder, his nose, thumped into his gut. But he wasn't done yet. Mikael took a blow to the chest just so he could get the right stance to pound Brenna in the side of the head.

Marcurio's heart might have stopped beating for a second, and a quiet fell over the others gathered in the warmth of the inn.

Brenna swayed back a step, one hand going to her head.

Mikael laughed.

And Brenna's right fist shot out and clocked him in the chin.

Mikael staggered back against the wall, knocking over a pot and a basket, dropped to his knees, and begged, "Mercy! I yield!"

Brenna loomed above him like a Nord queen from legends-a tall, curvy wall of strength and pride, and Marcurio found himself absolutely unable to take his eyes off his boss.

_By the gods, she's beautiful_.

"No more harassing the women of Skyrim, Mikael," Brenna panted. "Not Carlotta, not anyone."

"Fine, fine." Mikael stood, grimacing and wiping blood from his chin. "Unless, you think you and I-"

"Ugh." Brenna turned from him, rolling her eyes. She looked across the room to her hired wizard. "Come on, Marcurio. Let's go."

Marcurio nodded and hurried to her side. "Where to now?"

"A free bed," she murmured as they slipped out of the inn into the cold night air. "Jorrvaskr."

Marcurio made a face. As a skilled swordswoman and trueborn Nord, Brenna fit right in with the stout warriors of Jorrvaskr, the Companions, but Marcurio always felt out of place when they went there-shorter than everyone, smaller than everyone, better at magic, worse with a sword, and, other than sometimes Brenna, the only clever one in the room.

"I think I might need-" Brenna made a soft sound of pain and swayed, reaching for her head.

Marcurio caught her arm before she could go tumbling down the steps. His heart slammed into high gear in his chest. "A potion?"

"Yes." Brenna blinked rapidly and shook her head as if trying to clear it. "That ridiculous man was a little stronger than I thought he would be."

"And you were much stronger than anyone thought you would be," Marcurio soothed, surprising himself with the compliment as it just… came out of him. He tended to find everyone in Cyrodil more worthy of criticism than compliments. Brenna was suddenly having the opposite effect on him.

"Thank you, wizard." She gave a giggle, then groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach.

"Feeling sick?" he asked. "You didn't drink anything."

"Sick and dizzy," she murmured, letting him support her, in spite of his lesser height, through the market of Whiterun.

"You probably have a concussion from that one good blow he got in. Surely your Companions have a couple of potions you can use."

"Yes." She smiled crookedly. "They're not as stupid and useless as you think, oh wise one."

"We'll just see about that."

Before they reached the steps to Jorrvaskr, Brenna was sick, vomiting into the stream that ran through town in front of the shrine to Talos. Marcurio still didn't understand the Talos thing, but Brenna did. She was wearing an amulet of Talos now. She was fearless… and sick, injured.

Marcurio patted her back as she straightened. "Do you feel up to climbing the steps?"

"I can try. Unless you can levitate me or something with your magic?" She smiled in spite of the pale, almost green cast to her skin.

"I'm afraid my magic would launch you over the city walls. You might be able to survive a brawl with a bard, but not that." He was smiling again, seemingly unable to stop himself anymore.

"You're a funny wizard. You know that?" She grinned, staggered, groaned, holding her head.

He hated seeing her like this. Why did she feel like she had to stand up for everybody? Was it because she was the fabled Dragonborn? He hadn't believed that at first, not until they'd fought a dragon together, something he'd never thought he'd ever do. They'd fought well as a team, him striking the creature with lightning as it flew, her slashing and hacking it with her sword when it landed. And then she'd absorbed the dragon's very soul, and he'd had to believe her. She wasn't crazy; she was the Dragonborn. And she was always getting involved in other people's problems, trying to help.

When they reached the top steps leading up to Jorrvaskr, two of the Companions came running out-wild-eyed Aela and big, brawny Farkas.

"Brenna!" Farkas bellowed, rushing to her and practically tearing her from Marcurio's grasp. "What happened? Giants? Dragons?"

Brenna giggled drunkenly. "No. Just a bard."

"Mikael?" Aela guessed.

"Yes." Brenna swayed. "I think I might need a potion. He has a mean right hook."

"Did you win?" Aela wondered.

Brenna grinned again. "Yes." Then her eyes rolled back into her head, and her knees folded.

Marcurio darted forward, but Farkas was closer-and at least three times bigger. The Companion swept Brenna up into his arms, muscles standing out on his bear-like arms, and carried her into the hall of the Companions, leaving Marcurio alone-and uncomfortable-with Aela.

"Well? What do you need, Imperial?" the woman demanded.

"I am Brenna's hired guard," he told her, hands on his hips. "It is my duty to remain with her." He refuses to ask, beg, or plead to be allowed entrance.

Aela crossed her arms. "I still don't know why Brenna insists on traveling with a wizard instead of one of us."

"Maybe because magic actually comes in handy in a fight?" Marcurio suggested, antsy with impatience to get to Brenna.

"Are you suggesting my arrows don't?"

"No, not at all. I am merely suggesting that my arcane knowledge is beneficial to our mutual friend-"

"Friend? She's not just your boss?"

Marcurio felt suddenly trapped… and completely unsure of his own feelings in the matter. "Look, Aela, you've let me in before. I've helped Brenna complete several missions for your most noble order. If you don't let me get to her, I'm afraid I might have to resort to violence, and how many wizards of my calibre have you bested?"

Aela stared at him for a moment, then barked out a laugh. "I like your guts, wizard. Come inside. Brenna is lucky to have you as a friend."

Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, he followed the lithe woman into the hall and downstairs to the sleeping quarters, where a handful of Companions were gathered around Brenna's bed asking questions, bustling with potions, laughing at her exploits, complimenting her for pounding the irritating bard who seemed to have annoyed every woman among them.

Farkas was there, of course, his bulk completely blocking Marcurio's view of the bed-and of Brenna. His brother, who seemed a little more cunning and who always stared at Marcurio with undisguised distrust, was sitting on a nearby chair, arms crossed, staring Marcurio down, as usual.

"Hello, Vilkas."

"Wizard."

It was always "wizard" with these people. Or "Imperial." He had the impression both these titles might be insults.

"Marc?" came Brenna's slightly slurred voice, and the Companions went quiet, all their eyes fixing on him.

"I'm here, Brenna. They let me in this time." He met all their gazes, daring them to contradict or expel him.

"Move, Farkas! Let him in!" Brenna snapped.

Farkas sighed and stepped aside, and Marcurio darted to Brenna's bedside.

Her head was wrapped in a bandage, and much of her armor was removed, leaving her in a simple brown shift. Her hair was loose, flowing like molten copper over the pillow. And her face was pale. Her left eye was starting to bruise.

"Did any of you wolves give her a potion?" Marcurio demanded.

"Calm down, little guy," Farkas patted his shoulder with a big, heavy hand. "Of course we did. What do you think we are, animals?"

A few of the Companions laughed. Marcurio rolled his eyes. He dragged a stool close to Brenna's bed and planted himself on it.

"Brenna, you want any of us to stay with you?" Farkas asked.

"I'm fine, Farkas," she insisted, sounding weary. "Marc can keep watch. He always does."

Since when was he Marc? The blow to her head must have shook something loose. His concern renewed.

"Alright." Farkas shrugged and cast Marcurio a dubious glance. "G'night, Brenna."

The Companions all murmured good-nights to her and left or climbed into their own beds-all but Vilkas, who stayed seated in his chair by the door, staring at Marcurio.

The elderly lady who served as the Companions' maid put out most of the lights, leaving one lamp lit by Brenna's bed, then she patted Marcurio's shoulder, cooed over Brenna, and left everyone to rest. The Companions were snoring within seconds.

Brenna smiled up at Marcurio and patted his hand, then closed her eyes and fell asleep.

He sighed, relieved she was resting. Feeling eyes on his back, he turned.

Vilkas still stared.

"Do you mind?" Marcurio hissed at the other man. "Your glare is so loud, I can't sleep."

"Who said anything about sleeping?" Vilkas replied, shifting in the chair. "You don't seem to be planning on getting any."

"So you're _not _as dumb as your brother."

Vilkas's nostrils flared. "Were you not under Brenna's protection and obviously hopeless with arms, I would challenge you to a duel. Those are fighting words, Imperial."

"You don't scare me, _Nord_. It looks like you're not planning to sleep, either."

Vilkas sighed and seemed to settle down. "One of us must be redundant, then."

For a moment, Marcurio wondered what Vilkas meant by that, but only for a moment. "I'm well equipped to protect Brenna in case of retaliation and to get her any potions or herbs she needs if she awakens in a poor state during the night. I suggest you get yourself some rest before tomorrow's busy day of bashing in heads or whatever it is you do."

Vilkas shrugged. "You might need backup. You might face something a wizard can't handle."

"Why are you really here, Companion?"

"Why are you?"

The question struck Marcurio deep in his core. He wasn't sure if he had an answer. He turned to gaze down at Brenna's peaceful, sleeping, bruised face and was overcome-and nearly overwhelmed-by the temptation to touch her cheek, to brush his thumb over her full pink lips…

"When did _you_ fall in love with her?"

Two things about Vilkas's question stood out to Marcurio: the fact that the Nord had emphasized the word you and the fact that, suddenly and clearly, like chain lighting in the dark, the truth of his answer struck him. Marcurio was, indeed, in love with his boss.

"I don't know exactly when," he answered, not sure why he was confessing to this man who obviously disdained him-and whom he disdained in return. "Maybe back in Riften, days after we met, when she risked her life to help a total stranger-an Argonian-in need of help. Maybe the first time we fought a dragon, and she threw herself between its jaws and me. Maybe the first time I heard her laugh in the middle of combat or the first time she impressed me with her wit. Maybe that time she stopped by the road to pick a flower and put it in her hair like a little girl… I don't… I don't know," he finished lamely.

"I do," Vilkas said hoarsely. "We had sent her on some quest to rescue a man kidnapped by giants. She came striding into this hall, covered in blood and dirt, grinning from ear to ear, so proud of herself, so triumphant, like a hero from yore. In that moment, I knew she was the Dragonborn. And I knew that I loved her."

Marcurio's stomach twisted. "So… One of us is redundant."

"Indeed. She is a woman of fine character, a woman who will choose only one man to love for all of her life. A woman of honor."

This was true, Marcurio realized. He nodded. "Then she will choose." He smiled a little, again, but almost sadly this time. "It might not even be one of us."

Vilkas chuckled quietly. "You are right there, Imperial. We are not the only two men in Skyrim-and probably not the only ones in love with her."

Marcurio's smile widened. "You're probably right about that."

"Look at us, a Nord and an Imperial, a Companion and a wizard, calling each other right." Vilkas smiled, too. "I think I like you, Imperial."

Marcurio shrugged. "I think I might dislike you least of all the Companions."

Vilkas laughed loudly, and Torvar, sleeping nearby, muttered in his sleep.

Vilkas stood. "I'll let you win tonight, wizard. I need sleep for bashing in heads, as you said. Good-night, my new friend-and enemy."

"Sleep well, Nord."

Vilkas started out of the room, then turned back for a moment. "If any harm comes to you, I will gut you while you still live," he said calmly, conversationally.

Marcurio cocked an eyebrow. "No harm will come to her, I swear it, but… I'd like to see you try."


	2. Chapter 2

THE NEXT MORNING

Brenna opened her eyes slowly. Her head still ached a little, but nothing like the night before, and nothing was spinning that shouldn't be. The ceiling of the Companions' sleeping quarters loomed above her, familiar and soothing, and she sat up, reaching to feel the bandage someone had wrapped, unnecessarily, around her head. She couldn't remember who had done it… or much of the previous night. Stripping off the bandage, she looked around-to find her eyes met by Marcurio's golden-brown ones.

"Oh! Hello!" Suddenly conscious of the fact that she was wearing a thin, sleeveless underdress, she grabbed her blanket and pulled it up to her shoulders.

"Good morning," Marcurio greeted her, his face a study in inscrutability. "Sleep well?"

"Yes." She managed a stretch under the cover of the blanket and scratched the back of her head. "What time is it?"

"Nine hours since dawn last I checked," he told her.

Brenna frowned at him. "Marcurio… Did you sleep in here last night? On the floor?"

"No." He crossed his lean arms over his chest.

"Where did you sleep?"

He blinked at her.

"_Did _you sleep?"

He shook his head. "Didn't need it. And you had a concussion. Someone had to keep watch over you."

"I'm surrounded by the finest warriors in Skyrim when I'm here," she pointed out. "You should be able to sleep soundly here."

"How could I, with Torvar snoring like that?" he commented.

Brenna listened, then winced. "You have a point. All night?"

"All night." Marcurio shook his head in disapproval. He seemed to disapprove of all the Companions in general.

"Hand me my armor?"

"Are you paying me as a squire now as well as a bodyguard?" he complained, but he gathered up her armor-leather and light as a feather-and handed it to her, turning away as she slipped out of bed to strap it on over her underclothes.

She stared at his back for a moment after dressing, wondering about him. They had been traveling together for weeks now, and he was still a mystery to her. She thought she might like that about him. He was different from most men in Skyrim, men who brawled and drank and bellowed their love for you in bawdy songs, men who carried shields and swords into battle, men with big arms and big hearts and, often, big mouths. Among them, Marcurio was a cypher-short, slim, clever, fond of magic, fond of critique, and often silent about what was going on in his head.

"Thank you," she told him as he turned around to face her. "Thank you for staying with me, for always staying with me. I really don't pay you enough."

"I'm not looking for a raise," he told her quickly, surprising her.

"Then what _are _you looking for?" she teased.

Strangely, his face went red. He cleared his throat and looked away. "We should get going. If we want to get to Ivarstead by tomorrow, we should probably take a carriage. We can hire-"

"We're not going to Ivarstead by carriage," she interrupted. "I'd like us to walk."

Marcurio frowned. "What? Why? We need to get you to the Greybeards."

"I know. I just… I think I need to think about what it means to be Dragonborn. I need to… prepare myself for this." She wasn't sure just how to put it in words. She didn't want to confess to him that she didn't feel quite ready to scale High Hrothgar. "I just need… some time to clear my head." She bit her lip and looked away from him, knowing what she should say and not wanting to say it. It twisted her stomach just thinking about losing him, even temporarily. "You don't have to go with me. Maybe I should do this alone, especially if you don't approve."

He sighed and turned from her, running his hands over his hair.

"You don't want to go with me, do you?" Her throat felt tight, and the words came out hoarse.

"No, it's not that…" He turned back to her. "I don't want you putting yourself in more danger than you have to."

She gave a little laugh. "Well, tough luck there, Marc. I'm the Dragonborn. I'm supposed to fight dragons… at least, I think I am."

Marcurio sighed again, his angular features taking on a look of resignation. "Fine. Then I'm with you. Wherever you go, whatever you want to do, I'll be there to do my job and protect you."

His job. She winced. It was his job after all. She was paying him to accompany her.

"Thank you, Marcurio," she told him, modulating her voice into a semblance of formality. "I will make sure to pay you extra for this journey."

"No, don't." He took a step closer to her, one hand twitching toward her, then falling to his side. "Don't. I don't want… I don't want any money for this. I-" He looked away from her. "You've been… I mean, I've... "

She was baffled. Why was he at such a loss for words? He always had something to say, usually something sarcastic.

He finally looked at her again, and she couldn't quite read the unusual expression in his eyes.

"Consider me a friend, Brenna," he said. "I want to accompany you as a friend and willing bodyguard, not as your hireling."

She frowned, confused. "You don't want to get paid?"

"I have plenty of money from what you've paid me the last few weeks and the treasure we've found. I don't want you to pay me any more."

"What?" She still wasn't sure she was hearing him clearly. Like most Imperials, he was a man who loved his gold.

"Would you pay Aela for accompanying you? Or-or Vilkas?"

"I certainly wouldn't pay Torvar," she joked as her usually tipsy Companion friend continued to snore nearby.

"Brenna, I mean it. I don't care if you pay me or not. I'm going with you. Not for the gold, not really for the treasure, but because I... " He almost smiled, lips twitching. "I like traveling with you."

She smiled then. "We've had some fun times, haven't we? And you've really enjoyed it? In spite of all your complaining?"

"Well, there are certainly improvements we could make, but yes." He finally smiled for real, and his face was transformed into something strangely warm and, she suddenly realized, handsome. "I have enjoyed traveling with you. I don't want to stop. And I won't… until you tell me to leave."

Something fluttered in her stomach, and she shook her head. "I don't want you to leave."

"Good." He sighed. "Then what do we need to pack for this ill-conceived whim of a journey on foot you have planned for us?"

LATER THAT DAY

The familiar bell-like hum of nirnroot drew Brenna under the bridge after they passed Honningbrew Meadery.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Marcurio called from the bridge, arms crossed, voice heavy with disapproval.

"Nirnroot is a very useful plant!" Brenna called back to him, failing to mention that she just liked the sound of it, the look of it, and the hunt for it.

"You're a strange Nord, you know that? Most Nords don't know nirnroot from cabbage!"

"And you're a strange Imperial, consorting with a lowly Nord with a strange taste for alchemy." She was getting used to bantering with him these days, enjoying the challenge of trying to match wits with him.

"I suppose we make an unusual pair," he conceded, leaning over the bridge to stare at her as she waded into the edge of the river, having spotted the glow of the nirnroot.

"Aha!" She snatched up the glowing, humming plant and tucked it into the alchemist's satchel at her waist. "I can make some invisibility potion with this."

"Or donate it to some hapless alchemist's collection, no doubt," Marcurio remarked as she climbed out of the water and back onto the road. "What would the shopkeepers of Skyrim do without you to stock their shelves?"

"Find their own wares, I suppose," she laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "Now stop complaining about what a good person I am. We have miles to go before we can rest!"

"Miles that will seem longer if you have to stop every few yards to harvest a plant or help some poor soul," he teased.

When they'd first started traveling together, she'd thought him cruel, but she'd kept him with her for his undeniable skills with magic. After a while, she'd begun to see that his sarcasm was an outlet for his emotions, which he otherwise kept guarded, an outlet for his wit, and his way of trying to relate to those around him. After a while, his snide comments no longer startled her, but amused her instead.

They traveled in relative peace and quiet for a while, and Brenna took some time to appreciate the weather-the beauty of sky and clouds, the whisper of wind in the grass, the flutter of butterfly wings, and the song of birds.

"If I weren't the Dragonborn, I think I'd settle down to a nice quiet life," she told Marcurio. "Maybe as a shopkeeper or an alchemist. I'd set up shop in a little town, maybe somewhere in the Reach. I love the Reach. Don't you?"

"Plenty of interesting caves and ruins out there," Marcurio said, stroking the little beard on his chin. "Dwarven ruins interest me the most, so yes, I suppose I like the Reach. However, there are the forsworn to deal with, barbarians that they are. And hagravens. Briar hearts."

"Psshht." Brenna waved a dismissing hand. "Easily dealt with. I'd like to live there someday, on the edge of the mountain, with a beautiful view of the sky and those twisty little trees that grow on mountains. And yes, maybe some hauntingly beautiful ruins to appreciate and explore." She sighed at the thought, picturing herself tending a garden, mixing potions. Maybe she'd have a dog, a big, shaggy hound, and maybe-dare she imagine it?-a husband and children, the warmth and comfort of family in a dangerous world.

Vilkas would willingly supply the husband part, she knew. He had been looking at her differently lately, the way a man looks at a woman he wants. She liked Vilkas. In fact, she loved him, but like a brother, not a lover. He was a good man, and he deserved a woman who loved him the way he loved Brenna.

"What about you?" she asked quietly. "After all our adventuring is done, where do you see yourself?"

"I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "I suppose I could go back to Riften… but I've found I rather like adventure." He cast a quick, sideways glance her way. "Perhaps I would like to go to the Reach, too, to explore those Dwarven ruins and unlock the secrets of their technology."

A fluttery feeling filled Brenna's stomach. She found herself smiling uncontrollably.

"Perhaps… we'd be close to each other. We'd see each other every day," she suggested.

"I'd like that," he said softly, not meeting her eyes.

She let her imagination run wild, then, picturing herself in the little cottage on the side of a mountain, not far from Markarth, with Marcurio beside her, teasing her about her potions, reaching to hand her a flask, fingers linger, then trailing up her arm to touch her neck, her hair, her face… She blushed and put a lid on those thoughts. She had more important things to think about-making the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar, following the call of the Greybeards, asking them how to fulfill her destiny as the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.


	3. Chapter 3

THAT EVENING

A pack of wolves had slowed them down. The wolves were easily dispatched, but they hadn't been the last of the obstacles to prevent the Dovahkiin from speedily traveling to Ivarstead.

Refugees, a farming couple from near Helgen, approached them on the road. Their farm had been burned by a dragon. The husband had burns on his arms, and Brenna had insisted they stop and help the refugees. She had used two of their few remaining healing potions on the burned man, and she'd spent time talking to them, asking them about the dragon that had attacked their farm, telling them whom they could trust for help in Whiterun, assuring them that mentioning her name would get them help from the Companions, no questions asked.

By the time the refugee couple was on their way with new hope in their hearts, the sun was sinking below the horizon, and Marcurio was wrestling with the conflicting feelings of irritation and admiration.

"We'll have to camp somewhere for the night, Brenna," Marcurio pointed out to her as they started down the road again. "Either that, or walk through the night to Ivarstead."

"There's a Stormcloak camp not far down the road. They'll be willing to give us shelter," she said.

Marcurio grimaced. "Will they? I'm an Imperial mage. I know you have friends among the Stormcloaks, but-"

"But what? We're not going to get into an argument about politics again, are we?" She sounded tired and almost as frustrated as he felt.

"No. Fine. You're the boss. We can camp with the Stormcloaks."

"I'm _not _the boss anymore, Marcurio," she countered. "I'm not paying you any more. You're here on your own free will."

"Yes, I'm here, but it's _your _journey. _You're _the Dragonborn."

"And _you're _the mighty wizard. What do you suggest we do?"

"_I _suggest we turn around, march back to Whiterun, and hitch a ride on a carriage like normal, civilized people."

"Hmm…" She twirled a gleaming strand of hair around one finger. "We could buy horses."

"Horses? How is that better?" He wrinkled his nose.

"Faster," she pointed out.

"Look, Brenna, let's just do what you want-walk our way into Ivarstead, walk through the night." He was already tired. He hadn't slept the previous night. He wondered if she realized that. "You're apparently still the boss, so-"

"Oh, come on, Marc! That's not fair! I'm giving you a choice here."

"I told you what I wanted to do, and you didn't listen, so-"

A growling sound emitted from the scrubby bushes to their right.

"Sabre cat?" Brenna drew her sword.

"Sabre cat." Marcurio nodded, summoning magic to his hands, exhilarated by the familiar feel of its power. "Let's finish this discussion later."

"I agree." She smiled a little. "It's hard to argue when you're being gnawed on by a wild beast."

The sabre cat came bounding over the rocks and grass, snarling, its eyes glowing in the dying light.

Marcurio shot a streak of chain lightning at the creature, electrocuting it, stunning it for a moment, and Brenna took advantage, rushing in with her sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. She slashed at the sabre cat, opening a line of red along its shoulders. It yowled and hissed and swiped at her. She jumped back, but not before its claws raked across her leg.

"Get back!" Marcurio yelled, readying another spell. As soon as Brenna was out of the way, he fired twin streams of chain lightning. The magic sizzled through the air and scored the beast's hide.

Brenna ran forward again, slashing and stabbing with her blades, fast and graceful. She slashed the sabre cat's throat with her dagger, then stabbed its chest with her sword as it staggered. It swiped at her again, nearly striking her, but it was slow and clumsy, bleeding, sizzling with electricity, and she managed to dodge the blow.

Marcurio blasted it again, this time ending the beast's life and sending its corpse flying across the rocky ground.

Brenna looked back at him, the wind stirring her hair, blood shining on her blades, a grin shining on her face.

And Marcurio smiled back, his heart pounding with excess adrenaline… and something else.

_By the gods, I love her. _

Then Brenna winced and sheathed her weapons, and Marcurio hurried to her side.

"How bad is it?" he asked quickly.

"Just a scratch. There." She bent and motioned to her right calf, not far under her knee.

Marcurio knelt. His hands were trembling, which irritated and embarrassed him. He touched her leg gently, peeling back the straps of her armor to view the wound. To his utter relief, it was not deep.

"Yes, just a scratch. We'll need to clean it, though. Do you have any potions left, alchemist, or did you give them all to the refugees?" He stood and took her arm, leading her to a large boulder nearby.

"I have a couple left." She reached into her satchel and took out a small red vial. "A drop of that should do the trick."

Marcurio frowned. "Is the other healing potion that small?"

"Yes," Brenna admitted, dabbing a drop of the medicine on her leg. She winced at the sting. "I'm sorry, Marc. I haven't had much time for alchemy lately. And I'm running a little low on ingredients. Hence the nirnroot."

"Hence the nirnroot," he murmured, watching as the gash on her leg slowly began to close. He sighed. "With your leg like this, we probably should rest with the Stormcloaks tonight. They'll at least have food we can barter for and maybe even potions."

"I know you don't like them-"

He held up a hand. "I'm too tired to argue any more tonight. You win."

Brenna's eyes fixed on him with a sudden warmth. "I'm sorry I gave you a sleepless night. I'd forgotten about that."

"Well, when a brute of a bard lands a haymaker on your skull, you tend to forget things, so you're forgiven." He hopped to his feet and spun to face her, reaching out. "Up you go."

She took his hands, and he gently pulled her to her feet. She was suddenly so close. He could almost feel the warmth of her body. He _could _feel it in her hands-long, slim fingers, soft in places, callused in others from carrying a sword. His thumbs idly traced the feminine bones of them.

She made a soft sound, an exhalation of breath, and he looked at her. They were nearly of a height, she a little taller, but suddenly she loomed so tall and regal and far away; she was some unattainable being, some divine thing, Mara herself, or Dibella, come to Skyrim to steal his heart and leave him gasping and bleeding without it…

"My lady," he murmured, bringing her hands to his lips and softly kissing her bruised knuckles.

"Marcurio," her voice was low and questioning.

He could not bring himself to look into her eyes. He was afraid. He released her hands and turned from her, clearing his throat. "Well. Shall we continue?"

She was silent for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity.

"Yes," she said finally. "Let's keep going. I have a mission after all." She brushed past him stiffly, and he wondered whether his mistake had been in kissing her hands or in stopping there.

Something came over him, an impulse, an instinct, something wild and turbulent and altogether unlike him. He had been in Skyrim too long, under the spell of its wildness, under _her _spell. He reached out and grabbed her arm, spun her to face him. Her eyes widened, lips parted, and it was those lips that undid him entirely. He slid his arms around her waist and drew her to him.

"Marc…" Her face flushed, but she did not pull away.

He kissed her, taking her mouth with a passion that took him by surprise. The surprises kept coming when she kissed him back, her hands sliding along his arms, over his shoulders, linking behind his neck.

Pure bliss.

He released her gently from the kiss, pulling back only a little, looking into her eyes, trying to gauge her feelings. "Was that… too bold?"

She bit her lip, smiling, and shook her head.

"Did you… like it?"

She nodded.

He sighed, relaxing, pulling her closer against him, enjoying the warmth of her feminine curves. "Good." He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Did _you _like it?" she wondered. "I haven't kissed many men... Well, none, actually. I've been too busy, traveling, wandering, trying to find my place, and apparently being Dragonborn all along, and I haven't thought, until recently, about what it would be like to slow down, to stop, to just enjoy my life, and now… When I think about my little cabin in the Reach… I think about you and me there. Is that silly? Oh, gods, why are you so quiet, Marc? Did I say something wrong? Am I really terrible at kissing? Am I-?"

He kissed her again, muffling her anxiety with his lips, stealing her breath, smiling against her mouth at the little sound of pleasure she made as he rubbed his hands and up and down her back.

"Does that answer your questions?" he whispered huskily, lips close to her ear.

"Yes," she whispered in reply, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Good." He nibbled at her ear, and she giggled and wiggled in his arms.

"We should probably-" She cleared her throat. "We should probably keep moving or I'll never make it to the Graybeards."

"You'll make it there," he promised. "And I'll be beside you every step of the way."

THAT NIGHT

They were passing by the hill upon which stood the Ritual Stone when everything went to pieces. The place had always given Brenna the shivers. It was a haunt for necromancers, as most of the ancient stones were, and she'd fought those lovers of black magic here in the past.

Marcurio was looking tired, and Brenna was feeling guilty. He had stayed up all night to make sure she was alright, and here she was making him march across the countryside only to seek shelter in a Stormcloak Camp-and using up all his energy with kissing.

"We're almost there," Brenna assured him, hoping he found some comfort in that.

"Lovely. I can't wait to drift off to sleep soothed by the many tales and songs about how your Stormcloak friends are planning to chop of Imperial heads and give them to their children to kick around," Marcurio shot back.

Brenna rolled her eyes. "They won't do that, not with me there. They know you're my friend."

"How long before they start looking at you with suspicion because of that?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do you really plan to one day take me with you to meet Ulfric Stormcloak himself? 'Greetings, your self-proclaimed highness. I'm the Dragonborn, and this is my friend, an Imperial. Let's all sing a round of 'The Age of Oppression', shall we?'"

"It won't be like that," Brenna scoffed, but his words gave her pause. Perhaps they should camp on their own, in whatever shelter they could find. Would the Stormcloaks harass Marcurio? Would they one day turn on her because of her choice of friends?

And now, they had kissed. He had held her in his arms. She shivered with pleasure at the remembrance of it. Things were different now. They were no longer just friends. Should she get herself an amulet of Mara and let him know that she already imagined marrying him? Or was it too soon? If she married him, how would the Stormcloaks feel about her, then?

A cry of, "Help!" from the direction of the hilltop interrupted her thoughts, and she drew her sword.

"Brenna…" Marcurio cautioned.

"Who is it?" Brenna called toward the hill. "Who's there?"

Marcurio muttered something under his breath.

"Please, my lady! Help us!" a woman's voice shrieked.

"We can't ignore that," Brenna urged Marcurio. "Come on! We have to help her!"

"As you say, my lady." His hands glowed with blue sparks, and he smiled at her, which took her breath and warmed her heart. "You've kissed me now, so you're stuck with me."

"Come on!"

They hurried up the hill, Brenna in the lead, scanning the area for threats. At first she saw nothing. A ring of candles around the hilltop flickered dimly, but no moving figure-human or otherwise-was visible. Even when they reached the hilltop, she could see no one.

"Hello?" Brenna called. "Who's here?"

A whisper, a breath, alerted her, and she spun to face the Ritual stone.

A Dunmer woman dressed all in black spun out from behind it. She clutched another woman by the hair and held a dagger to the Nord woman's throat.

"Necromancer," Marcurio spat.

The woman in black laughed. "Indeed, wizard. Dismiss your spell, and you, Nord, drop your sword, or this woman dies."

"Please!" the captive Nord pleaded. "Do as she says!"

"Brenna-" Marcurio started.

Brenna dropped her sword. She did not, however, remove the dagger strapped to her side. If she had to get to it quickly, she could. She held up her empty hands.

Marcurio sighed, and the crackle of his electric magic faded.

"Good." The Dunmer necromancer smiled. "Now kneel."

Brenna and Marcurio exchanged a worried glance.

"Now!" the woman shouted.

Brenna knelt on the cold earth of the hill, and Marcurio knelt, too, moving closer to her.

The necromancer came closer, dragging her captive with her. "Good." She smiled cruelly. "Two sacrifices for my spell."

_Two? _Something clicked in Brenna's mind-and in Marcurio's, too, from the look on his face. The necromancer had _three _captives… didn't she?

The instant the Dunmer released the Nord, Marcurio moved, striking out with his lightning-not at the Dunmer, but at the Nord.

The Nord woman shrieked and jumped out of the way just in time, drawing a dagger in one hand, her other hand glowing red with a fire spell.

A decoy. She had been a decoy. This whole situation was a trap!

Brenna rolled across the ground toward her sword, dodging a spear of ice shot at her by the Dunmer necromancer. She leaped to her feet, sword in hand, and attacked. The necromancer parried her blow, but her evil smile was gone, replaced by a look of concentration and consternation.

Nearby, Marcurio and the Nord necromancer dueled with magic, fire versus lightning.

_Talos, protect him!_

The Dunmer woman dodged a thrust from Brenna and spun around behind her, kicking Brenna in the back. The Dovahkiin stumbled and fell against the Ritual stone, ducking just in time to avoid being stabbed in the throat by the Dunmer's dagger.

The necromancer back up hurriedly, raising her hand, chanting. The ground on both sides of the hill shuddered.

"She's summoning something!" Brenna called to Marcurio, turning to see him narrowly dodge a fireball.

"Great! Just great!" he panted in reply.

Brenna charged at the Dunmer, slashing the woman across the arm, but it was too late to stop the spell. Two skeletons rose from the ground, one with a sword and shield, the other with a bow. The skeleton archer turned to take aim at Marcurio, and Brenna parried a slash from the Dunmer's dagger and ran across the hilltop. She swung her sword hard, slicing the skeleton's spine. It staggered, bones rattling. She spun, sword cutting through the air-and cutting the skeleton's head clean off.

The other came rattling toward her, and she met him, steel ringing on steel.

"She's summoning something else!" Marcurio cried hoarsely.

Brenna stumbled back as the skeleton bashed her with its shield, then dodged another blow from it, spun and thrust her blade into its chest, shattering it in pieces. Breathless, she turned to locate the Dunmer necromancer. The woman was indeed working a Conjuring spell, and Brenna ran at her. This time the woman was cut off guard, and Brenna's sword thrust through her chest.

The Dunmer necromancer moaned and shuddered, then went limp on the blade. Brenna kicked her off and slashed her across the throat, just to make sure the deed was done.

"Brenna! Look out!"

Marcurio's cry drew her eyes to him. She looked to seem him stretch out an arm, hand glowing red with a fire spell; he was completely ignoring the Nord woman running at him with her dagger.

"Marc!" Brenna screamed.

His fireball burst past her, and her eyes followed it to see it crash into a frost atronach that had been looming only a few feet behind her, the necromancer's final summoning.

The atronach staggered, flames tearing through it, and Brenna hurried to finish it, stabbing and slashing until it collapsed on the hill.

She turned around just in time to see the Nord necromancer plunge her dagger into Marcurio's stomach.

"Noooooo!" she screamed, sprinting across the hilltop.

The woman ripped out the dagger, and Marcurio staggered back, clutching his abdomen.

Brenna threw herself between them, then threw herself bodily at the woman, knocking her to the ground. She pounded her fist into the woman's wrist, tearing the bloody dagger from her hand, then using the dagger itself to impale the woman's heart. The Nord woman didn't even have time to scream. Her eyes widened, and she went still.

Panting, Brenna got to her feet and turned to Marcurio. "Marc-"

"It's probably not bad," he said, stumbling, swaying. He looked down at his bloody hands. "Probably not bad. It's-" He groaned, and his knees buckled.

Brenna reached out and caught him against her, heart racing hard and fast. She realized with sudden, awful clarity that she _didn't know what to do. _He usually fought enemies from a distance. He had never been wounded like this. _She_ was the one who went in swinging, who got hacked and slashed in return. _She_ was the one who ran through their healing potions… healing potions she had not been restocking as she should.

"It's not that bad," Marcurio kept saying. His head fell against her shoulder, his breath hot against her neck. "It's not-" His words were choked off by a sharp groan, and he hunched closer to her, burying his face in her shoulder, pressing his hands against his middle.

"I need to see it, Marc. I need to see what I can do."

"Mmm… No, let's not… Let's just stay like this. Let's just stay like this."

"No, I need to see it." She slid her arms around him.

"Just hold me, Brenna," he rasped, shuddering in her arms.

"I need to fix you."

"What if you can't?"

"Don't say things like that!" she snapped, shifting him, turning him so that she could lay him gently on his back on the ground. "Move your hands."

Marcurio peeled his hands back from his stomach. They were dripping red. He lifted his head, trying to look down at himself. "How bad?"

_Bad. _


	4. Chapter 4

The location of the wound itself was not good. The amount of blood was another bad sign. And the lack of healing potions… but she didn't want to think about that.

Brenna drew her dagger and opened the slit in Marcurio's robes further. There was so much blood that it took her a while to locate the wound. The wound was jagged and deep, located a couple of inches above his navel. And it was bleeding so much, fairly pumping the precious red liquid.

"Hold my hand," Brenna ordered.

Marcurio's shaking, bloody hand shot up, and she took it, squeezed it tight, then bunched up the fabric of his robes and pressed it hard against the wound. He cried out, bucking against the pressure.

"I have to stop the bleeding," she told him, feeling awful for the pain she was causing him.

"A potion?" he suggested breathlessly, throwing back his head and staring up at the stars. "A spell?"

"You know I don't know any healing spells, but I've got one little potion left," she said.

He swallowed thickly, then asked, "Will it be enough?"

"It will have to be." She brought his hand to her lips, kissed it and tasted blood. She placed his hand under hers over his wound, then reached into her satchel for the last healing potion, so small and pitiful and insufficient. "Keep pressure on your wound."

Marcurio clenched his teeth and nodded.

Brenna lifted his head and shoulders onto her lap with one hand and held the potion to his lips with the other… lips she had kissed, lips that now trembled. He swallowed the scanty drops of healing liquid, brewed from blue mountain flowers and golden wheat.

"Is it working?" she dared to ask after a few moments of listening to him breathe through the pain.

"Maybe. I think the bleeding has slowed."

But not stopped.

"I think… I think I can walk."

Brenna doubted it. He had already lost a lot of blood, and he had started the battle tired, deprived of sleep. _For her, all for her. _

"Brenna." He caught her wrist. "Let me try."

"Alright." She slid her arm under his and stood, pulling him up beside her.

He hunched over, gasping, one hand pressed hard to his middle, but he stood.

Brenna held him against her. "We need to get to the Stormcloak camp. They'll have potions and bandages." She started down the hill, keeping a tight grip on Marcurio.

He staggered, feet faltering and dragging, but he moved. His hand trembled against his stomach, and she felt it, so she lifted her own hand and pressed it over his, linking their fingers.

His knees folded as they reached the base of the hill, and he fell against her with a soft sound of pain that ripped at her heart.

"We have to keep going! We're not there yet!" She grabbed him tight, lifted him up, set him back up on his feet. "Come on!"

"Brenna, I can't-"

"You _can_! Keep going, Marcurio!" she snapped.

He nodded against her shoulder and took a step, then another. He clenched his teeth and groaned through them, but he kept moving.

"You're a wizard. You're a fighter. You're the bravest, most loyal, cleverest, snarkiest man I know, and I-" _love you _"-need you to keep moving!"

"By the eight-"

"The nine," she corrected automatically.

"-it hurts, Bren."

"Push through it, Marc. Keep moving!"

They stumbled forward, Brenna's heart pounding painfully hard and fast in her chest, Marcurio's breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

"Bren, I wanted to tell you," Marcurio managed between wheezing gulps for air, "that I'm not just… that that kiss… It meant something to me… something I don't understand. You're not like any other woman I've ever met, and I-"

"Save your strength," she urged him, her stomach twisting and turning and fluttering. "Save your breath."

"If I don't tell you now, I might never get to tell you-"

"You _will_." Furious tears burned in her eyes.

"I think-I'm not sure… I might be crazy, losing my mind, under a spell or something… But I think… No I _am_ sure… Gods, this hurts." He bowed his head, and his body tensed. He dug his fingers hard into his stomach around thepuncture.

"You don't have to talk," Brenna told him quickly. "You don't have to say anything."

"I do, I do." He swore. "Listen to me before the pain takes over completely. Do you hear me, Brenna? I love you." The words burst out of him, breathless with pain and urgency. "I love you."

"Marc-"

"And I think, from you calling me Marc, letting me kiss you… You would have knocked me in the dirt if you didn't want it, could have easily… I think maybe you-" He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, staggering, nearly falling.

"This isn't the time," she insisted.

The Stormcloak camp was so close, but it seemed so far away. Her leg was starting to ache.

"This might be… the only time." He huffed a short, wry chuckle. "Argh, it hurts to laugh."

"Then don't. Don't laugh. Don't talk. Just breathe and keep walking."

They were across the road, and boulders rose around them. The Stormcloak camp was just out of eyesight. Brenna could smell smoke from the campfire, heard the whinny of a horse.

"Brenna, I can't-" Marcurio cried out, his body jerking. He doubled over, knees folding, and tipped forward.

Brenna caught him with frantic, shaking hands and sank to her knees, drawing him across her lap, leaning him against her shoulder.

"Marc! You can't give up!"

"The hole in my gut," he panted, pale and clammy, "says differently."

"Get up." She squeezed his arms, ran her hands through his sweaty dark hair that had come loose from it usual neat queue, kissed the top of his head. "Come on, love, get up. We're almost there."

"Love?" he breathed. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes! Yes, alright!?" she burst out, hot, angry tears streaming from her eyes. "I love you, too. Is that good enough for you? I think I've been in love with you forever now. That's why you have to get up. You have to!"

He buried his face in her shoulder, shuddering, curling in on himself around the wound.

It was bleeding again, any healing done by the potion undone by their short, agonizing walk. She pressed her hand over his, biting her lip at the feel of hot blood pumping between their fingers.

"Hold on, Marc."

"I _am _holding on… to my own guts."

She laughed a little at that. Sarcastic, even in mortal peril, that was the man she loved.

"We're almost to the camp. I'll go get help."

He moaned and shook his head. "Don't leave me. I don't have long."

"Don't be dramatic. I won't be gone but a minute or two," she argued.

He coughed, and the cough shook his body and ended in a whimper.

Maybe he wasn't being dramatic. Maybe he was being accurate.

"Marc?" She hugged him, kissed his head, brushed the hair back from his face. "Marc?"

He groaned breathlessly, his breaths suddenly rapid and shallow and hoarse.

"Marc!"

He tipped his head back, eyes glazed with pain, mouth open and gasping. There was blood leaking from the corner of it.

"Don't… forget me," he rasped.

"I can't. I won't. I won't have to. We're going to get married and build a cabin in the Reach. Do you want children? How many children do you want? What about a cow? I've always wanted a milk cow. You can make fun of me experimenting with alchemy, and I can laugh at how terrible you are with a sword, and we can-we can hold each other by the fire when it snows. What about chickens? We can keep chickens, too." She rambled on, unable to stop herself, as if her words could breathe life into him.

She was the Dragonborn. Why could her shouts only harm? Why couldn't they heal? If only she knew ancient words for healing.

Marcurio smiled a little, then frowned, stiffening, his hands spasming over the wound in his belly.

Brenna looked toward the Stormcloak camp, just over the rise, and screamed, "Help! Help us! Please!"

No one answered.

"I can't…" Marcurio's words disappeared in a moan of anguish, and she held him tight to her, wishing she could fight his pain, fight his weakness, protect him from death.

"Help us!" she sobbed. "Please!"

With a soft cry, Marcurio went limp, eyelids sliding shut, eyelashes fanning over pale cheeks.

Brenna tried to stand, tried to lift him in her arms. Maybe she could carry him the rest of the way. But she struggled. Her injured leg ached and threatened to fold under her. She nearly dropped him.

"Help us!" she screamed again, collapsing on the ground, pulling him against her in a desperate embrace. "Marcurio, please. Wake up! We're almost there, love. Wake up!"

He breathed awful, labored breaths against her neck and did not respond.

Brenna could hear the Stormcloaks' horses. Why couldn't they hear her cries for help? Did they suspect a trap like the necromancer's?

"It's me! Brenna Fire-Heart! I need help!" She didn't know how long her voice would last. It cracked and roughened, her throat aching.

Her voice…

Hope surged in Brenna. She drew on the dragon soul within her, threw back her head and shouted, "_Fus_!"

Her shout burst through the air, sending nearby birds and insects scattering, echoing and resounding over hill and boulder.

Voices, footsteps, the rattle of arms and armor.

"Here! Help me!" Brenna cried.

Stormcloak soldiers appeared, rushing toward her.

"It's alright now." She kissed Marcurio's pale, cold cheek. "Help is on the way."

LATER

Marcurio opened his eyes. Light filtered through high, narrow windows, golden and warm. The air around him smelled fresh and almost sweet.

"He's awake," said a woman's voice from somewhere nearby. "Go get Brenna."

Footsteps retreated.

A deep ache knifed through his gut, and Marcurio groaned and closed his eyes.

Cool hands touched his forehead.

"Rest, my child. Rest in the grace of Kynareth."

"Brenna." His eyes snapped back open to see a woman in a yellow hood peering down at him. "I want to see Brenna."

"You need to rest," she cooed.

He shook his head. "No. Not until I see her."

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" The woman leaned back with a wry smile.

"You haven't seen-" He gasped at the soreness of his body as he tried to sit up. Everything was sore, except the sharp, cold, terrible pain in his stomach.

"Lie still," the woman urged.

"Marc!"

He pushed past the pain and made himself sit up, clenching his teeth and wrapping his arms around himself, breaking out in a cold sweat.

And then Brenna was there, standing beside the horribly uncomfortable stone bed in what appeared to be…

"The Temple of Kynareth?" he guessed.

"Yes." Brenna stood stiffly, staring at him, twisting her fingers together before her. She wasn't wearing armor, but a blue dress draped with a darker blue apron, with a bronze belt cinched around her waist. "The Stormcloaks gave me potions and let me borrow a horse and wagon. They didn't come here, of course, but they… they helped. The potions weren't enough. You were dying. There was blood… everywhere… You were choking on it." She swallowed, pale.

"You don't have to-"

"I do. You need to know. I got you here as fast as I could. I almost wasn't fast enough. You were… you were almost dead. The guards helped me carry you up here. Danica had potions, spells… She brought you back from the very brink."

"With the blessings of Kynareth," the woman in yellow, apparently Danica, said.

"I thank you," Marcurio murmured.

"You're welcome." She nodded to him, then looked back and forth between him and Brenna. "I'll leave you two to catch up. Remember, Brenna, he needs rest. He is still injured."

"Yes, thank you," Brenna said, and Danica retreated to a far corner of the temple. "How…" She took a tentative step closer. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible, to be honest," he admitted with a short laugh. "But… alive at least. And you?"

"Still scared. That's strange, isn't it? I'm talking to you, and you're clearly alive, and I'm still scared-still scared I'll lose you. You probably think I'm crazy, but my hands won't stop shaking. I'm so _terrified_ you're not really alright, that this is just a dream or something. And I-"

He held out a hand, wincing at even that slight movement. "Come here."

"Is it really you?" she whispered.

The tears in her eyes nearly ripped his heart in two.

"Come here, love." He sighed when she hesitated. "I'm very sore and very tired, and holding out my arm like this is starting to hurt."

She smiled suddenly, like the dawn, her tears like fresh morning rain. "It _is _you." She took his hand and let him draw her close. She gathered him against her, pulling his head to her bosom and kissing the top of it.

"Gods, I'm so tired," he murmured, relaxing against her soft, feminine warmth. "Can we just stay like this for a few days, or maybe forever?"

"Mmm… Yes." She leaned her cheek against his head, stroking his back gently with her fingertips.

"Keep doing that and I'll have to marry you to preserve your honor," he murmured.

"I don't think I'll stop, then," she whispered teasingly into his hair.

"You know, maybe we should hitch a ride to Riften before we go to Ivarstead," he suggested. "There's a Temple of Mara there, isn't there?"

"Yes," she said in a breathless little voice that was almost a squeak. She cleared her throat. "But only… Only once you're well."

He drew her down beside him and held her for a few quiet moments.

"I'm in your arms, love," he whispered and kissed her neck. "I'm very well indeed."


End file.
